


that's all you knead

by whimsyappletea



Category: Vocaloid
Genre: Alternate Universe, Athletes, Drama, Drama & Romance, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Inappropriate Humor, Massage, Romance, Sexual Humor, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 10:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6701959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsyappletea/pseuds/whimsyappletea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He’s a newcomer, but everyone says he’s got the touch of angels.”</p>
<p>—her pleasure is his business. Naturally, chaos ensues. Lenrin; massage salon alternate universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	that's all you knead

**Author's Note:**

> alternatively titled: ‘i swear this was a serious fic but it went down the hill off the tracks and straight into the realm of what-the-fuck-were-you- _on_ -himi’
> 
> so it all started with the idea of writing a massage au that didnt head south into nsfw areas - but somewhere along the way the stress from that semester took its toll in the form of madness HAHAHA oh man the wip title for this was even _'the weird fic'_ on twitter, why,
> 
> general warning for dirty, _dirty_ ideas/implications and my horrifying sense of humour. also lens creative food cursing, if anyone gets hungry easily like me pfft
> 
> special thanks to my irl friend **kaida** , who had to deal with me showing her excerpts of this story and asking questions like ‘who do you think is more likely to buy weird shit’ and ‘how big is a dragon dildo’ while studying for her exam back then. mad props yo
> 
> standard issue lenrin and a super obscure lukamiku reference good luck finding it heheh ☆

.  
.  
.

“Um, hi,” the girl squeaks. Her fingers skimming over the bedsheets grow stiff, much like the vice grip over her heart.

“Hello—you’re Ms Shimoda, yes?” he asks cordially, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. His expression is neutral as far as she can tell, but she relaxes the slightest bit when he offers a small, kind smile. “You can take off your robes now, so lie down and relax.

“I’ll take care of the rest.”

.

**that’s all you knead**

_hey boy—  
i don’t need to know where you’ve been,  
all i need to know is you and no need for talking._

.

His hands are magic, Rin decides. Thinking about this seems to help abate the tension that’s been winding her up like a goddamn toy, as strange as that sounds.

It’s the way they skate down her legs with expertise, kneading the oil into her bare flesh; it’s the way they press against the aching spots with just the right amount of pressure to release the strain in her back muscles; it’s the way they make her go—

“Nn...” she bites back a groan as his elbows rub circles against sinewy lines of her shoulders. It feels good so far, but here it’s starting to hurt a bit. Is he pressing too hard?

Rin shifts her head from the pillow to chance a glance at the male. The room is dim, but lit just barely enough for the glow of his side profile to be seen. He seems very intent on the task at hand, the girl observes.

Perhaps she’s been working too hard; the coach _has_ been making the team do killer crunches and pull-ups lately. That might be the reason why her shoulders are screaming bloody murder.

(Also, _Miku_ would scream bloody murder if she were to kick up a big fuss all because she can’t take a little pain.)

And so Rin inhales sharply into the pillow when his hands run down the length of her shoulders, bites down hard on her lip when he squeezes her upper arms with impossible force, hisses through her teeth as he grinds circles into the sore spots with his elbows.

She’s an athlete, after all, and has experienced far worse scrape-ups and sprained appendages than this. She can handle the feeling of ten tons of lead weighing down on her shoulders.

“ _Hrk—!_ ”

Eh, _mostly_ handle it, anyway.

.

“So how was your first, Kagamine?”

“Pretty alright, I guess,” Len murmurs, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly and sweeping a covert glance across the room. Holy cheese-balls, no one else is here. He’s doomed for an interrogation. “I think it might’ve been _her_ first, too.”

His co-worker Kaito waggles his eyebrows in a way that makes his ears feel a little hot. “Ooo, I hope you didn’t go down _too_ hard on the poor sweetheart. She doesn’t even have her clothes on.”

“T-too hard? I didn’t really...” he pauses. Thinks back to the girl’s muscles tensing like a too-tight violin string under his touch, to the girl’s rather... _odd_ noises as he worked out the kinks in her shoulders.

“Oh.”

He’d been so nervous about his first, he hadn’t realized he was using what must’ve been the sheer strength of a rampaging bull on her.

“Oh, chocolate bananas on a _stick_.”

“Hey, that’s a great idea!” chirps Kaito, who has completely missed the mix of embarrassment and horror blooming across the other male’s face. “It _has_ been pretty hot recently...”

.

It’d hurt like _hell_ after her first visit; the pain had only faded away after a few days, and now two weeks later Rin is absolutely _dreading_ this second visit.

But of course Miku _had_ to strip her and steal all her clothes, leaving her with nothing but robes and downright _refusing_ to give them back until the session is over, so here she is again, feeling vaguely violated from the stripping and bracing herself for the pain—huh.

His touch is much gentler than expected, rubbing with a pressure that’s not quite as excruciating; in fact, it feels... nice.

Really nice.

“Please let me know from now on if it hurts, Ms Shimoda,” is the murmur she hears from beside her, and she can’t help the tiny shudder from his warm breath tickling her ear. “I’m sure you’re a tough cookie, but there’s only so much your body can take.”

Rin huffs softly, a smile toying at her lips. He’d actually figured it out by himself. _Huh._ “Duly noted. And... yeah. Yeah, thanks.”

.

He notices it on their third session.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he says, soft and polite despite his curiosity nagging at him on the inside, “but you’re... a runner, aren’t you?”

Silence on her end.

Len panics, wondering if his question had been too invasive. The room is way too dark for him to gauge her expression, but they’ve been having a sort of comfortable conversation today, and if he’d brought up something that could possibly spark a minefield, then—

“Yeah,” she pipes up suddenly. “Yeah, I’m a four by four hundred relay runner. Why do you ask?” She doesn’t sound particularly angry or annoyed, just... surprised.

“Oh. Um. _Um._ Your legs,” Len stutters, hands giving her left calf a subconscious squeeze. “They, um, have the muscle mass and shape of someone who runs a lot.”

“Really?” She sounds intrigued. “That’s kinda cool. That you can figure that out from, you know, feeling up my legs. And you can’t even _see_ them.”

Oh, sweet mother of honey-glazed chicken wings, his face is on _fire_ now. It’s a good thing the room is dark, after all. “Please don’t say it like that, Ms Shimoda,” he mumbles, pumping oil from the bottle nearby and slathering it over her thighs.

“Say what like that?”

“Um. ‘Feeling up my legs.’”

Len startles when the girl lets out a throaty laugh that’s muffled by the pillow she’s facing. It’s a big difference from his initial impression of her, fidgeting in the robes she had to change into from her regular clothes. “What? Jeez, it’s true, though!”

“But Ms Shimoda—”

“Rin.”

“I-I’m sorry?”

“Rin,” she repeats. “Don’t need to be so formal.”

“Alright.” A thoughtful pause. “Ms Rin.”

“ _Did you not hear what I just said about being formal._ ”

Len hears the note of amused exasperation in her voice, and can’t help but grin widely under the dim lights.

.

Miku sits her down in a relatively unknown café one day with a highly expectant expression that immediately clues the blonde in on what she wants to talk about.

“So? How are they?”

“Eh. Pretty alright, I guess?”

She sighs internally at her friend’s playful pout. Miku’s a good person and an even greater friend, but sometimes she can be a downright _hawk_ when it comes to attractive people—like the time she’d flirted relentlessly with their previous manager, Ms Luka. “What do you mean, ‘I guess’? You have to admit the men servicing you there are hot, right?”

Rin frowns, a little confused. “I’ve only had this one Kagamine Len for all my visits.” She tries to think back to when exactly he’d told her his name—only to fail, realizing it’s been a couple of months since they’d first started these bi-weekly sessions. My, how time has passed.

The gasp Miku makes is as if she’d punctured a lung. “Only _one_?! For shame, Rin, for shame. You are _wasting_ our sponsored sessions!”

“Meh.”

“Don’t you ‘meh’ me! This is serious, Rin! How are you ever gonna find a man like this?” And then, like she’d realized something important: “Wait, did you say Kagamine Len? Rin, _you hit the jackpot!_ ”

“The what.” Rin is completely thrown at this point, and that sly, ecstatic grin on Miku’s face is _not_ promising.

“He’s a newcomer, but everyone says he’s got the touch of angels. His customer-base is steadily growing as we speak,” the tealette sighs dreamily, taking a sip of her special-order vegetable smoothie. “And he’s so _handsome_! You of all people should know!”

“Wow, of _course_ I can see how he looks like—when I have my face, you know, _buried into a pillow for the entire hour and a half of each session_ ,” Rin deadpans.

“You must’ve at least _peeked_!” Miku insists.

The blonde rolls her eyes good-naturedly. _Sure_ she’d seen his side profile, and _sure_ his voice sounds pleasant in that sweet-in-sunlight-not-sugar way, and _sure_ he seems like a really nice, friendly guy—

Rin freezes. God help us all, she thinks with a rather amused air of resignation, Miku’s strange love-crazy antics are finally rubbing off onto her. The world cannot handle any more Mikus.

.

Len rushes to change his clothes into the staff uniform, cursing random food items as he buttons up his shirt the wrong way, _flippin’ extra spicy green beans_ , he can’t believe he’s late, the manager’s going to kill him via deadly eggplant juice if he finds out—

“Yo, Kagamine!”

He cringes, turning to look up. And up. And further up. Wow, the man’s seriously tall when he’s not sitting in his swivel chair. Or maybe he’s just puny. “Ah, Mr Kamui...”

The purple-haired man grins down at him, patting him on the shoulder with one hand and clutching a large cardboard box in the other. “Good thing I caught you before you started your shift! Someone had a, uh, _mix-up_ for the orders, so this bunch of stuff has to be thrown out. You see anything you like, Kagamine?”

Len blinks. Peers into the box, and splutters. “Who in the _world_ ordered dil—?”

“Like I said, it was a mix-up, boy,” Kamui interrupts with a hasty cough, eyes shifting nervously. “Quickly now, before Shion comes in and sees these.”

The blond buries his face in his hands and groans, peeking through his fingers to look at the... _stuff_. This is not what he’d expected when his manager approached him, not at _all_ , for the sake of all things good and sugary—ah.

With as much courage as he can muster, Len reaches into the box and pulls out a couple of hard, lacquered objects.

“ _I think I’ll just take these thank you I must go now my people need me_ ,” he garbles, before fleeing the room, wrongly-buttoned shirt and all.

.

“Bamboo?”

“Yes. Bamboo.”

“But... _bamboo._ ” Rin sounds equal parts reproachful and bewildered, and he doesn’t blame her one bit, to be honest. “I just—who ordered _bamboo_? Are the people working here drunk, or something?”

“Beats me. _May_ be. It would explain a lot of things,” he grouses half-heartedly, prompting a quiet snort from her. “Hey, don’t laugh, you haven’t answered me yet! Do you want to give it a go?”

She sobers, laughter trailing off. When Miku had first told her about the sponsored massage sessions at an all-male massage salon, she hadn’t expected to enjoy chatting with her assigned masseur this much. Len is nothing but polite, professional, and the kind of clumsy, sweet person you’d love to keep talking to.

The kind of clumsy, sweet person you’d love to put your trust in.

“Well,” Rin says, shrugging the best she can without the towel draped over her back from riding further down. “Well, why not.”

“Alrighty, you know the drill.” _Let me know if it hurts._

“Mm-hm.”

When the cool, smooth surface of the short bamboo stick comes into contact with her bare skin, she shivers. It runs down her legs in a smooth glide thanks to the oil, working out the kinks in her thigh muscles splendidly.

He moves to focus on areas around her back, and Rin can’t help the soft moans she breathes into her pillow—the sensations feel way too good for her to register embarrassment of any sort.

If the male notices the noises she’s making, he doesn’t comment. “Maybe bamboo was a good idea, after all,” is all he says.

Rin agrees.

.

Len is helping Rin sit up for the head massage—another “wing it” thing, much like the experimental bamboo from a month back—and making sure her towel is not in danger of unravelling when she poses the question.

“Why did you decide to do this?”

“Hm?”

“Your work now.” She waves her hands around, as though that helps her to find the right words to piece together. “I mean, not all guys are like _‘yo man I wanna massage girls for a living’_ without the, uh, you know. _Pervy intentions._ ”

“How would _you_ know if I have any pervy intentions?”

“You haven’t stripped me yet?” Rin suggests helpfully, leaning her head back in his direction. She leans back too far, though, her head bumping into his chest, so he reaches out to steady her shoulders. The blonde breathes a laugh that tickles his fringe. “And that right there. You didn’t try to grope me in the dark.”

Len can feel his cheeks burning, and it’s not because of her comment; he remembers those breathy moans of hers when he’d used the bamboo on the girl. Sure, it’d been instinctive on her part and professionalism on his—but that doesn’t mean he’d been any less flustered.

“Um.” He clears his throat, hoping it also clears his thoughts. “I’ve always been good with my hands, and... it was kind of a thing I picked up from my dad? He’d been a masseur, too. He used to give massages to my mum when she got back from work and was, like, dead tired.”

“That’s sweet,” Rin says softly. She doesn’t ask why he’d spoken about them in past tense. She doesn’t have to. “Like, really, really sweet. Your parents must’ve loved each other very much.”

“They did, actually. And it was—I don’t know. My mum always looked so happy and relaxed after he gave her a massage, and when I asked, she said, _‘It’s like the feather touch of a dove, dear.’_ ”

Len supposes he’s rambling at this point as he rubs circles against her temples with his fingers, but she doesn’t seem to mind. “And I thought, by all sweet and tangy jolly ranchers, wouldn’t it be nice if I could use my hands to do something like that, if I could make so many others look just like my mum had?

“And with that in mind, I marched right up to my dad and asked him to teach me everything he knew about being a good masseur. And like I said, I’ve always been good with my hands, like origami, sewing, cooking, so it kinda just— _happened_.”

There’s a slight pause where he assumes Rin is processing all that information. And then:

“That,” she says, “was pretty damn deep. And you—” She stretches a hand out behind her and pokes his nose. “—are pretty damn awesome.”

“I can still have pervy intentions despite the deep character backstory, though,” he reminds her.

“Hot damn, you’re right.” The girl pinches his nose instead. “I sure hope you’re not having some weird hand fetish about this moment, Len.”

The blond chuckles, the sound rumbling and nasal all at once.

.

“He’s sick?”

“Yeah, that idiot,” the receptionist laughs, genial yet apologetic. _Megpoid Gumi_ glints on the name-tag sitting above her left breast. “He caught the flu, and only informed us fifteen minutes ago because he forgot. Would you like to reschedule, or carry on with an available masseur?”

“Oh.” Rin squints at the list of available masseurs, not feeling comfortable with any of the unfamiliar names. She bites her lip. “I... think I’ll be rescheduling, thank you.”

A quick check of her calendar and a couple of clicks on the computer later, Rin’s session is shifted to a weekday that’s surprisingly devoid of training. It’s a swift, painless process.

She hovers around the receptionist desk a little longer, gnawing on her lip now. Ventures, with an air of hesitance, “Do you, uh, happen to know if anyone’s gonna visit him today?”

.

Gumi tilts her head fractionally. She recognizes the girl, of course: Shimoda Rin, national relay runner on the Japan team, spokesperson for quite a number of famous sports brands, good friends with national swimmer Hatsune Miku. In short, a great, promising athlete.

A great, promising athlete who’s currently making a rather peculiar request.

“Shion is, I think,” she says, keeping her tone neutral despite her scepticism. “After his shift ends.”

Shimoda looks vaguely relieved. “Oh. Oh, that’s—that’s great. Would it be alright if I dropped by later with some things for Len? To pass to this... Shion person, to pass to him?”

With slightly raised eyebrows, Gumi leans back in her chair. She’s on first-name basis with Kagamine, she notes. They’re pretty close. It’s not unusual for a masseur and his client to be friendly, but—

“Sure, no problem, I’ll let Shion know. Oh, and by the way...” She offers her standard affable-receptionist smile, before turning to rummage through a stack of papers and producing a brochure. “You might want to read this in your free time. As soon as you can, maybe?”

The blonde blinks once, twice. Lifts the pamphlet to eye-level, and reads, “ _‘Terms and Service’_?”

“Terms and service,” Gumi confirms, her smile never wavering. “Particularly the client clauses.”

“Hm. Alright, I’ll take a look. Be back in a bit!”

Her fixed smile drops as soon as Rin has her back turned to take off in a run, leaving a small, worried jut of her lips.

It’s not unusual for a masseur and his client to be friendly, but it doesn’t hurt to take precaution—especially when both of their careers are at stake.

The last thing Gumi wants is to see one of the best masseurs in their company and the best runners of their nation crash and burn.

.

“Dude. Duuuuude. _Wake up._ ”

Len moans when someone starts shaking him like a maraca, rolling over in his bed to come face-to-face with someone’s jeans-clad crotch.

A pause.

He rolls back over to face the wall instead, shielding his eyes with his arm. There’s only one person he knows who’s that shameless _and_ has the spare keys to his house. “ _Please_ tell me that’s not what you woke me up for,” he pleads.

Kaito offers a hearty laugh in reply; the sound of his footsteps move away from the bed and is quickly replaced by the rustling of plastic bags. “I bring you medicine from the convenience store and bottles of mineral water as you asked, O sick one,” he says dramatically. “Along with what appears to be a stack of origami books and a box of black tea.”

“Origami books?” Len mumbles, sitting up. He looks like he’s been through hell and back, from the mess he calls his hair to the sweat-soaked monkey-printed boxers he’s wearing. “Why did you bring _origami_ books?”

His friend shrugs. “They’re from one of your clients, apparently. I think Megpoid said it was Shimoda—the cute, leggy one?”

Rin, his mind supplies helpfully, complete with her interesting insights to things, witty comebacks, sincere laughter, and the memory of husky moans that still ring clear after all this time—

He flushes unwittingly, stumbling over to stand beside Kaito. “Yeah, Ri—Ms Shimoda. That’s awfully nice of her.”

The blond picks up one of the books from the stack, noticing they aren’t all just origami books—there are a few on sewing, recipes for foreign cuisines, even crocheting. Most of them are fairly advanced. For a moment he wonders why she’d given him such an oddly specific mix of books, and then he remembers.

_Like I said, I’ve always been good with my hands, like origami, sewing, cooking._

His cheeks feel even warmer now. Much, much warmer.

“Jeez, you newbie-turned-absolute- _heartbreaker_!” Kaito exclaims, giving him a light shove. Len blinks in bafflement until the blunet continues, “Kids grow up so _fast_ these days—I mean, she totally _digs_ you, doesn’t she?”

His panic is near instantaneous; he lifts the book he’s holding to cover his face, stammering, “T-that’s not true, she’s just being nice, and, um, she’s showing friendly concern for her masseur as a good client, a-and—!”

Len groans unintelligibly when the grin on Kaito’s face merely widens, his curiosity for the heartbreaker comment mostly forgotten in his blind fluster.

.

“The tea was nice.”

“Oh. Well.” Rin hears the smile in his voice, bites her lip. Takes a moment to steady herself, before adding, “Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“The books were also very thoughtful.”

She doesn’t need this, the girl thinks miserably. Not now. “Right, I thought they’d be up your alley.”

Len halts in his administrations over her thighs. “Are you quite alright, Rin?” It’s like she can feel his worry washing over her in waves, the sincerity almost too much to bear.  
When had they grown so close that her masseur can pick up on her unhappiness, just like that?

“I’m fine, I’m fine! It’s been a really hectic week, that’s all—think TV guest appearances, impromptu press conferences, _and_ extra weight training sessions. They’re trying to increase my max, which is, you know, absolutely insane.” It’s easy for her to voice these worries of hers to him, Rin realizes. So, so easy.

When had they become such friends that she can share personal things without having to think twice about it at all?

“Oh, I see,” Len says with a sigh of relief. “Sounds really stressful. I honestly wouldn’t fault you if you went completely bananas and kicked someone in the shin, or something.”

“Pfft, you and your bananas. And of course, the worst thing in the world is getting kicked in the shin by me. Oh, the _humanity_ ,” she drawls. Sarcasm has always been a sure-fire way to mask her uneasiness.

He snorts boyishly, hands scaling upwards to rub soothing circles against her hips. “To be fair, you _do_ have killer legs,” he points out. “I’m pretty sure the ‘killer’ part would become literal if they’re wrapped around someone.”

“And then they’d die of happiness. Or a nosebleed. Nah, pretty sure a nosebleed.”

Len outright laughs this time, and she realizes she’s getting carried away again, getting swept back up into the whirlwind of snarky comebacks and pleasing sensations and growing attraction.

How could she have fallen so far, when she’d never even realized she’d slipped in the first place?

It has to stop, Rin thinks. It has to, before she dragged him down with her.

.

“You don’t have any more scheduled appointments with Ms Shimoda.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very.” Gumi gives the computer monitor a small nudge towards him, and he leans over for a closer look, trying his best to ignore the phallic object sitting on top of her paperwork. Sure enough, there are no time-slots under the name _Shimoda Rin_.

“I don’t recall her coming up to the desk to book anything after that last session three months ago, actually,” she adds, a hapless smile wavering on her lips.

“I see.” Len musters an equally hapless smile in return, his shoulders slumping. “Thanks a lot, Ms Megpoid.”

The green-haired lady nods once, though her attention has already been turned to her administrative work, fingers flying across the keyboard with mind-boggling speed. “No problem.”

He makes his way to the back room, trying his best to recall his last session with Rin, trying to find something, _anything_ that can hint to him as to why she’s suddenly disappeared. Her friend Hatsune had thrown a _huge_ fit about the blonde dodging her questions when he’d asked, scaring the living daylights out of him in the process.

Rin _had_ been a little strange the last time he’d seen her, but he’d decided against pursuing the matter, he thinks grimly. Now it’s too late to chase his runaway—client? Friend?

Are they friends?

Under any other circumstances, they probably would be, no questions asked. Here, though, Len doesn’t even have her number to text her if she’s alright, despite all this time. It’s just a regular meet-and-go kind of masseur-client relationship.

Right?

Len feels his stomach twist when he realizes he doesn’t know the answer.

“Heya, buckaroo,” Kaito greets as the blond walks through the doorway. His bright smile dims at Len’s utterly dejected expression. “Oh. Still no luck, huh.”

The blunet jumps up and slaps both hands against the shorter male’s shoulders. “Look, losing a customer ain’t the end of the world—this can be a good thing in the long run!” he reasons. “If she really _does_ dig you, she just saved herself a whole lot of trouble.”

“Trouble?”

“Trouble,” he affirms, his grip over Len’s shoulders tightening subtly. “Haven’t you read the terms and service like Kamui told you to when you first started? Also, think about it: you said the leggy girl often has paps following her everywhere, right? Can you imagine if some woo-hoo happened between you two, be it accidental or not, and word gets out to the press?”

_It’ll be all over for her._

Len furrows his brows. “I get it,” he says softly. “I get it, yet I don’t.”

Kaito dons his trademark toothpaste-infomercial smile, letting his hands fall away from the blond. “Losing a customer ain’t the end of the world,” he repeats. “You’ll have a lot more soon enough. Don’t worry too much about it.”

.

_‘Client clause #3: The client is not allowed to pursue further relations with their masseur, and vice versa. This includes and is not limited to: romantic, sexual, and blackmail.’_

In her mind, Rin can see every firm line and stroke printed on the pamphlet. Can remember the words that had made her heart stop and tumble to her feet.

_‘The company has the right to suspend any masseur who disregards the client clauses, and in severe cases, may be dismissed entirely. Clients who have similarly paid no heed will be banned indefinitely from the premises.’_

She hadn’t known what to expect from the brochure she’d gotten from the reception lady, but reading the client clauses had certainly opened her eyes to the reality of her situation.

Len doesn’t deserve any punishment when _she’s_ the one who’d been stupid enough to fall for a masseur. It’s not fair to him, not when all he’s ever done is be kind, and earnest, and thoughtful, and—

The blonde inhales sharply, quickening her pace as she rounds a corner. Run, she chants robotically in her head, _run_ , no matter what happens, just keep running, don’t you dare think about anything, don’t you dare look back—you _can’t_ look back.

Besides, like Miku had said: he’s blessed with the touch of angels. To him, there are loads of potential clients out there who’d be of more monetary value than a national runner visiting on sponsored sessions. She’s just one of many to come.

Rin slows to a jog after a couple of laps on the track, making a beeline towards her sports bag on the bench and rummaging for a bottle of water.

Maybe, she thinks as she takes a long, well-deserved drink, maybe...

There’s not enough hope in her heart to finish that train of thought.

.

It’s her.

It has to be her.

He pushes against the crowd, shouting absent apologies over his shoulder and straining to catch up with the girl not too far ahead, come on, just a couple steps more, closer get closer come _on_ —

“Rin,” he gasps, stumbling as he makes a successful grab at her arm. “ _Rin._ ”

She jerks at his touch, and Len knows he’s not mistaken, even though her baseball cap shields most of her startled expression and her short blonde locks.

“L-Len,” is all she can manage right then.

.

“Nine months.”

“I know,” she says.

“ _Nine whole months_ , Rin.”

“I know,” she says again. It’s softer, guiltier.

Len scratches his cheek idly. Nine months later and it seems their roles have reverted to when they’d first met—with him all formal yet amiable, and her, anxious and unpredictable.

They’re sitting in a nearby café with him strategically sitting closer to the door, just in case she bolts. (He’s already exhausted his running capacity from trying to catch up to her earlier, but she doesn’t have to know _that_.) “If it helps, I’m glad you’re not pregnant.” At her strange look, he clarifies, “ _Nine_ months.”

She snorts, and it’s such a familiar sound that his lips quirk up instinctively. “I see your sense of humour hasn’t gotten any better—I think it’s gotten a lot worse.”

“At least you weren’t around to listen to Kaito’s massage puns. They always _rub_ everyone the wrong way.”

Rin slaps a hand over her mouth to catch her laughter, but the sparkle in her eyes give her away. “I take it back,” she mumbles. “You’re not just bad, you’re _terrible_.”

“Not as terrible as you, though.” He says this with gentleness rather than accusation, but she stiffens all the same. “I just... I want to know _why_.”

Her shoulders sag in defeat at his words, like she can’t hold up the weight of her remorse any longer. Len waits patiently as she struggles to find the right words, only to settle on a simple: “It’s stupid.”

“Can’t be as stupid as the time Mr Kamui brought in a box of... _stuff_.”

The girl can’t even bring herself to smile at his bad joke this time. “Nah, it’s stupider than that.”

“If it has anything to do with the third client clause in our terms and service, then it probably isn’t all that stupid.”

She snaps her head up, eyes wide and lips parted. Bingo.

“I’m not the kind of person who reads fine print,” he admits. “But then Kaito jogged my memory when he mentioned it about half a year back. And... I don’t know why, but I had the craziest theory that maybe _you’d_ read it. Desperate times for me, maybe.

“But I guess I was right.”

“I just—no, wait.” Rin narrows her eyes in suspicion as she realizes something. “Wait, if you’ve already _guessed_ why, then what’s the point of asking _me_ the same question?”

“I didn’t want to know why you left,” he says, and it’s true: the search for answers had been resolved, but the search for her had not. And his only reason is—

“I wanted to know why you didn’t give me the chance to tell you I felt the same.”

She blinks once, twice. Opens and closes her mouth desperately, a luminescent blush spreading across her entire face at a steady pace. “I... I... you—we can’t. Even if you—even if we—I just. No. No goddamn way. I’m not risking getting you fired, are you _insane_ —”

Len watches her flounder for excuses, her flush growing redder and redder as she rants on, and thinks he finally understands why Kaito derives such sadistic pleasure from watching people squirm at his teases.

He decides to have mercy on Rin, cutting her off with an air of nonchalant innocence: “But... you’re not my client anymore. Not since—hm, nine months ago?”

She makes a noise of protest from the back of her throat, but otherwise says nothing. For a moment he worries that this entire conversation has overloaded and fried the girl’s brain circuits—

He’s momentarily stunned when she lunges across the table to press a kiss against his lips, before returning to her initial position just as fast.

“Sweet mother of caramel corn,” Len says, his smile tinged with equal parts affection and disbelief as he leans in. “Running away, sneak attacks—you have quite the _track_ record.”

Rin leans in as well, her composure mostly regained. “On the bright side, you’ve always been good with your hands,” she begins, a decidedly cheeky edge to her grin that makes him think there’s an innuendo hidden somewhere.

_(Maybe, she thinks as she takes a long, well-deserved drink, maybe..._

_She’ll meet him again.)_

“So go on and _catch_ me, while you still can.”

.

_if you wanna be with me, baby, there’s a price to pay;_  
I’m a genie in a bottle—  
you gotta rub me the right way. 

.

**omake:**   


“Megpoid.”

“Yes, Mr Kamui?”

“Why,” he begins, one eyebrow twitching, “for the love of all things I hold dear to me, is there a _humongous mistake_ sitting on the front desk.”

Gumi barely bats an eyelid as she turns to stare impassively at a certain dragon adult item he’s referring to. “It’s big enough to be a good paper-weight.”

“That is not the intended use, miss,” Gakupo gripes. “Not even _close_.”

“Well, since Ms Sakine had a mix-up in the shipment this month, I thought we shouldn’t let the rest of the items go to waste,” she reasons with a casual shrug. “I’m still wondering how and why this even happened.”

“Oh, that. Apparently the box was supposed to be a gag gift for someone, but when she bought everything she was logged into the company account instead of her private one.”

“Ah.”

A brief pause, and then:

“Was she drunk, or something?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, Megpoid. Maybe we’re all drunk inside.” Gakupo side-eyes the device sitting on the receptionist desk like it’s totally not inappropriate for it to be there, before squinting at the lights overhead like they hold the answer to life.

“It would explain a lot of things.”

.  
 **owari.**  
.  
.  
.

**Author's Note:**

>  **disclaimer:** i do not own Vocaloid, or Christina Aguilera's _Your Body_ and _Genie In A Bottle_.


End file.
